


Ross Meets Strange

by Ismira_Daugene



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Face Punching, John is Everett Ross, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Punching, Reunions, Sherlock is Stephen Strange, Spy John Watson, Swearing, Undercover Missions, and who did the punching, let's face it, no Boston Creme donuts were harmed in the writing of this fic, we all know who got punched, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ismira_Daugene/pseuds/Ismira_Daugene
Summary: John frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.  “What the hell are you wearing?”Sherlock looked down at his apparel, surprised at this being John’s first question.  “Is that really important right now?”“You’re wearing a bloody cape and have a goatee!  And what the fuck is that eye thing?”Sherlock let out a put-upon sigh.  “It’s the Eye of Agamoto and the Cloak of Levitation,Jawn,” he replied easily falling back into the same tone of voice that he used to explain what he deemed simple things to simple minds.-------------------Takes place post-series two and pre-series three.  John and Sherlock meet a little differently three years after Sherlock jumps to his "death".Translation to中文byAliceAmy





	Ross Meets Strange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenity_Stardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenity_Stardust/gifts).



John settled into his desk, a fresh donut and coffee from his favorite place just down the street. His usual routine allowed for a whole fifteen minutes to himself to enjoy this guilty pleasure. It had been far too long since he’d had a good cuppa (which was nearly impossible to find on this side of the Atlantic), but the black brew he’d taken to drinking instead was a decent replacement.

This role he’d taken on, the role of Everett K. Ross an agent of the NSA and collaborator with S.H.I.E.L.D., was three years in the making. After Sherlock’s death, John had been approached by MI6 (thanks in large part to Mycroft). He’d been loath to accept anything from Mycroft, but he wasn’t too proud to admit that he needed to get away from 221B, from London, from anything having to do with Sherlock. So he’d accepted the offer, and began his career as an undercover operative in the NSA, reporting back to Mycroft at pre-arranged times about the Avengers Initiative and other such operations.

John smiled a little as he bit into a fresh Boston Cream. However he only got to enjoy that first bite before his office door slammed open. The Boston Cream landed with a plop on his desk as he jumped in surprise. “Agent Ross,” a tall man with graying temples and a goatee commanded his attention in the doorway.

It wasn’t the graying temples or goatee that grabbed John’s attention though. The man was wearing a short blue robe belted at the waist, loose blue pants under tall sturdy boots, a strange gold eye pendant, and a bright red cape with a high collar. However, once again it was not the strange clothes that drew John’s attention either. No, instead it was the high cheekbones, the long narrow nose, and the intense stormy eyes. “Sherlock?” John stared at his former flatmate who, until three seconds ago, he’d assumed to be dead.

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped and his brows furrowed as he realized who Agent Ross was. “John? What are you doing here? Where’s Everett Ross?”

John snapped out of it and pulled out his ID badge from his inside jacket pocket. He stood up and walked around his desk to hand the ID badge to the consulting detective. Once Sherlock had taken it and was studying the name and image, John reared back and let fly an impressive left hook. Sherlock landed flat on his back with a bloody cut on one protruding cheekbone. Several security people rushed over, hands on their holstered firearm. John waved them away though. “Are you sure, sir?” one of the men asked.

“Yeah, he knows he deserved it,” John replied and the men slowly backed off, looking unsure. John reached out an arm to pull his former flatmate up, to which Sherlock grabbed hold and allowed himself to be pulled up and into the office proper. John closed the door and blinds before turning back to Sherlock who was gingerly trying to stem the blood on his cheek with a napkin from the donut bag. “You bastard,” John started. “You utter bastard.”

“It seems we both have some explaining to do, John,” Sherlock replied eyeing the name plaque on the desk. “Mycroft told me you were doing some work for him, but I never imagined this.”

John frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Sherlock looked down at his apparel, surprised at this being John’s first question. “Is that really important right now?”

“You’re wearing a bloody cape and have a goatee! And what the fuck is that eye thing?”

Sherlock let out a put-upon sigh. “It’s the Eye of Agamoto and the Cloak of Levitation, _Jawn_ ,” he replied easily falling back into the same tone of voice that he used to explain what he deemed simple things to simple minds.

“What…? Nevermind,” John grumbled. “What the hell are you doing here, Sherlock?”

“I was here to speak with Agent Everett Ross about information on the Avengers and the Sokovia Accords. However it appears Agent Everett Ross doesn’t exist.”

“He exists alright, Sherlock. Don’t you dare go blowing my cover!” John growled.

Sherlock groaned and plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of John’s desk. “Of course not, John,” he grumbled. “That would involve more trouble from Mycroft than I care to deal with at the moment.” He turned those intense eyes up to John then. “Besides, I believe we could be of mutual benefit to each other.”

“What the hell are you talking about,” John’s arms had slipped down to rest on his hips.

“I’m talking about information, John. Information that _you_ have and I need. Information that _I_ have and you need.”

John eyed the man slouched in the uncomfortable guest chair. Despite being slouched in a chair, bloody, and bruised, Sherlock still managed to look elegant. “What makes you think I could ever trust you again, Sherlock? You haven’t talked to me in three fucking years! THREE!”

“Oh use your head, John! Why else would I not contact you, if not to protect you!”

“YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE IF I NEED PROTECTION!” John yelled, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and he sat up straighter. “John,” he said quietly.

“No, Sherlock. Maybe you should just go.”

Sherlock stood then and reached out toward John. “But _Jawn_ ,” a slight whine crept into his voice.

“Goddamn it, Sherlock! Obviously, I’m not capable of speaking with you in a normal tone right now, and the things that need to be discussed should not be done here. We’ve both already said far too much.”

At this, Sherlock straightened and let his hand drop back down to his side. “Of course,” he said in a more neutral tone.

John moved over to his desk and ripped off a piece of paper from the yellow legal pad on his desk, quickly writing down an address. “Meet me here tonight at the same time Mrs. Hudson usually served up dinner on Sundays.” He folded the slip of paper and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock accepted the folded paper and nodded.

“Now use that Cloak of Levitation and levitate out of here,” he gave Sherlock a small smile.

Sherlock grinned back. “It’s good to see you again, John.”

John nodded still smiling. “See you later, Sherlock."

With that, the man in the red cape swept out the door and down the hall. John’s assistant, a petite woman with short black hair, leaned in the door a couple of seconds later. “What was that about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” John replied examining his fallen donut. “Just a mad man in a cape.”

His assistant frowned in confusion at the note of fondness in her boss’s tone.


End file.
